


Canis Minor

by WarpedChyld



Series: A Dog's Life [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A very very dumb dog, Dogs, Fluff, Hannibal loves their big dumb dog, Humor, M/M, Mentions of sleeping naked together, No animals were harmed in the writing of this fic, Some Cursing, Will is a sassy little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarpedChyld/pseuds/WarpedChyld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is gone for several hours. Hannibal frets and pines and draws and thinks about their life together. </p><p>Also, dog. A big dog. A big dumb dog. </p><p>Hannibal adores it.</p><p>This is also a prequel to my fic "I Meant Kick".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canis Minor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannibani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibani/gifts).



> Part of the Hannigram Holiday Exchange over on Tumblr. :) I got [ Monobani](http://monobani.tumblr.com) who requested fluff, dogs, and Will being cute. 
> 
> Not Beta'd except by myself so if you spot any mistakes please let me know. :D Otherwise enjoy!

Silence danced around the house, as palpable and unseen as the breeze that came in through the open windows. Hannibal reveled in it, loathe to disturb it even as he felt the urge to take advantage of it and draw. Will was gone (Hannibal was NOT worried, no not him. An hour of fretful pacing and cleaning had taken care of all that. Well most of it. Ok a good portion) and Hannibal decided to pass the time drawing. With training Encephalitis and repairing all the damage he did, Hannibal had had little time for his leisure activities. He thought he might compose but Ceph, as Will insisted on calling him, considered himself a fine singer and always tried to accompany Hannibal on the harpsichord.

 

So, drawing it was. Hannibal brought his supplies to his art room, threw open the windows and settled down in his favorite chair. Absently he noted that the sun was starting to fade the chair and made a mental note to keep it out of direct sunlight when he wasn’t using it. The silence continued in here as Hannibal sat and thought about what to draw. He discarded several options before settling on one and soon, the silence was broken only by the soft susurrus of pencil to paper and the occasional rasp of scalpel sharpening wood and graphite. The hours ticked by, the picture emerged, and Hannibal’s near constant mental mantra of “worrying where Will was” had dulled to an almost meditative like background hum. His own personal version of “om” such as it were. 

 

The picture was halfway complete when the shifting sun sent a shaft of light reflecting off his scalpel right into his eyes and he blinked, more than a little surprised at how much time had passed. Could Will have come home and he had just not heard it? Hannibal strained his ears, even inhaled deeply through his nose several times, but could hear no sounds indicating anyone other than himself and the dog were in the house. Just to be sure, Hannibal put the drawing down and went to check out the window to see if Will’s truck was in the driveway. No. No it was not. 

 

Hannibal heaved a disappointed sigh and sat back down, face buried in his hands. A few seconds later his shoulders started to shake and he heard himself chuckling. All too soon he was giving a deep, low belly laugh at himself. He was Hannibal Lecter, former esteemed Surgeon and Psychiatrist, Count and last heir of a bloodline stretching back over 8 generations. Skilled cook, musician and artist. The Chesapeake Ripper and Dragonslayer. He had cheated death, and capture too many times to count, though he knew exactly how many times. Yet, here he was, acting like a wife who’s husband had gone to war and was anxiously pining for his return. 

 

He supposed, in a way, he was. Ms. Lounds had called them Murder Husbands.While at the time it had tickled him, given him a warm thrill in his belly, he knew then, as now that it was so much more than that. They were tied and connected so deeply and intimately it was more like they were one being. No marriage, no mere ring, could compare to it. Though, if Hannibal were being honest with himself, the thought of having his ring on Will’s finger and Will’s on his, a paper declaring to the world that they were Dr. and Mr. Graham-Lecter (dr Lecter-Graham, Hannibal was versatile) gave him that same warm belly thrill. 

 

His laughter tapered off as he imagined proposing to Will, Will accepting. The simple ceremony and, what he was most looking forward to; The Kiss. He gave another chuckle; he was now acting like someone in one of those atrocious romantic comedies people so loved. Ah but Will did do that him, even thoughts of Will. Anything to do with, Will really. Hannibal was hopelessly, helplessly, in love with Will Graham. He was fairly certain Will loved him. No. He was positive Will loved him. Loved him enough to want to die with him. Loved him enough to stay with him and not turn him in. Loved him enough to marry him? Loved him enough to kiss him, let alone make love to?  That...that  Hannibal was unsure of.  

 

Though they slept in the same bed, often naked, there had never been even a hint of anything sexual. Casual touches, hands run through hair, fingers down cheeks, even, on one memorable occasion, an all out tickle war when they discovered each other's tickle spots. After that, panting and exhausted and giggling, a moment Hannibal knew would have been perfect for a kiss, nothing happened. They had simply basked in the warmth of the other, the gentleness of the moment. Hannibal hadn’t even wanted to kiss him then. Even now, thinking back on it, he still didn’t. The moment had not been right. They were still recovering.

 

Now though...on occasion Hannibal had found his thoughts turning to more carnal avenues. Waking up with Will pressed to him, naked as often as not, clad in only boxer shorts at times, he had been tempted to lean down and take a taste from rose petal pink and soft lips. To run his tongue along the crease where Will;s shoulder and neck met and taste the tangy salt of Will’s skin. Simply snuggling closer and burying his face in Will’s curls, feeling the softness, inhaling the sleepy scent of him, was enough. To calm any other urges. To reassure himself that Will loved him. Will trusted him. Will knew him and saw him. 

 

Hannibal would like more. Would like to have Will in every way and give himself to Will in every way, it wasn’t necessary right now.  They were living up to the “Husbands” part very well, though the murder part was exceedingly lacking. Neither had killed since they took down Dolarhyde. Though there were plenty of rude around, Hannibal found himself overlooking things that in the past would have guaranteed a spot on his table. He knew it was because of Will, because of what they had. The trust slowly rebuilt over a year and hacf, the small smiles and laughs. Maybe in time they would kill again but Hannibal had never needed it and right now things were all so wonderfully domestic and simple and...enough. It was enough.

 

He turned back to his drawing and studied it critically. Hannibal had chosen to use an image burned in his mind, one he turned to again and again for the thrill it gave him; Will, in cut off jeans, asleep in the hammock outside, with their irish wolfhound, Encephalitis, laying on him.  The dog had chosen to  lay with his head on Will’s thigh and his hindquarters on Will’s chest. His tail was lying perfectly centered over Will’s face but Will had been so deeply asleep he had not noticed it. Hannibal had stared at the charming scene until a bird tweeting had woken Ceph and made him go charging off the hammock, sending it spinning and Will to the ground.

 

Hannibal had tried, he had really tried to not laugh but Will’s foot was tangled in the hammock and he was sputtering and looking around, confused from being woken in such a manner. Hannibal had gone over to help free him, grinning and chuckling. They had both heard Ceph barking and then the loud CLUNK! has he, inevitably, ran headfirst into the fence. It, of course, did not deter him and he had turned and ran the other way across the lawn only to meet the same fate. Hannibal briefly worried the wooden boards would crack before the dog’s head did.

 

“That dog is dumber than a half eaten bologna sandwich.” Will had muttered under his breath as he stood.

 

Hannibal had graciously helped him up, though he was  frowning. “He is young and easily excited, Will. ”

 

Will had given him a look as yet a third crash resounded behind them, Ceph still barking his head off. “Hannibal, I know you like him and are very proud that he can trace his lineage back to the first wolf that was ever domesticated...”

 

“All dogs can do that, Will. Even the most lowly mutt.”

 

Will had blinked slowly at him and continued, his voice dry as the Sahara. “Hannibal, good breeding has no bearing on intelligence and while yes, I am very grateful you got him for me and love him almost as much as I love you, the simple truth is common sense is never going to be common for Ceph.”

 

“Encephalitis.”

 

“Ceph. And do not give me that spiel about his full, registered name being King Henry’s slipper fetcher and ball catcher or licker or something. You named him Encephalitis just so you could say you gave me encephalitis again - and by the way, you never gave it to me in the first place, you just didn’t tell me I had it - so I can damn well call him Ceph if I want and I can damn well say it’s a good thing breathing is involuntary because he would forget and suffocate.” 

 

Will had not sounded angry, there was no accusation. He had forgiven Hannibal everything, truly. It still didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be his usual snarky self.  Ah how Hannibal loved him. But he was still going to defend the poor dog. Ceph WAS young and with proper training would live up to his proud lineage in no time and he told Will as much.

 

Will had raised an eyebrow and, as Ceph darted past them to make his fifth attempt at the fence, had simply said, “Treat”. Hannibal’s eyes had widened and not even his still lightning fast reflexes were enough to save him. Ceph had veered straight towards them and, for the nth time since they had gotten him, Hannibal was knocked on his ass by a very excited 100+ pound ball of purebred fur and stupidity.

 

Will hadn’t even had the decency to pretend to not laugh. He had just doubled over, howling and looking Hannibal who lay prone on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Ceph had then made it worse by coming over and promptly sitting on Hannibal’ face. Still gasping for air, Hannibal had flailed helplessly for a few seconds before managing to push the dog off. He sat up and glared at Will who, by now, was rolling on the ground, only able to make a wheezing sound as tears streamed down his face. With a deep, heartfelt and much put upon sigh, Hannibal had stood with as much dignity as he could, dusted his clothes off and gone into the house to fix lunch. The bologna sandwiches he had made had sent Will off into another fit of laughter.  

 

All in all, it was one of the best moments of their life together. At least in Hannibal’s opinion.

 

Remembering about those sandwiches reminded him that it was past lunchtime, as did the soft rumble his stomach made. So, lunch it was. What to make though. Something light just to hold him until he could prepare a more elaborate supper? Or a full meal and simply call it an early supper? If he did that, and Will came back they could eat together. But, then again, if he made something light, then he could be assured of sharing the evening meal with Will, because surely Will would be back by then. That was the clincher.

 

“Something light then.” He said aloud. “I know just the treat.” 

 

Even as he was speaking the word, he tried to cut it off, but it was too late. He sighed deeply as he waited for the only symphony he ever got to hear live now. CRASH! That was the front screen door, knocked off it’s hinges again. SCRIIIIIIITCH! That was the wooden floor being shredded. THUNK! SLAM! SCRAPE! Dining room table. Hannibal was actually a little impressed Ceph was able to move it. The thing was huge and heavy.

 

There was a final crash as Ceph came barrelling into the room and slammed into the doorframe. He recovered nicely and skidded to a stop in front of Hannibal. Promptly he dropped to his haunches, and held up a paw in greeting, tongue lolling out as he panted and waited. 

 

Hannibal had long learned this was a lost battle and reached into a side drawer to pull out a small, homemade dog treat. Ceph’s paw was taken and shook in greeting and then he held out the morsel. One thing Ceph had learned, and learned well, was to take things gently, and Hannibal barely felt it as the dog took, and devoured, his treat.

 

Unfortunately, that was about the extent of his manners as he then proceeded to put his paws on Hannibal's chair and hoist his 178.45lb bulk into Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal absolutely did not let out an undignified oof! but he was momentarily pinned by the dog that, even at almost two years old and taller than Hannibal when on his hind legs, still firmly believed he was a lap dog.  

 

Hannibal was in a bad position to move the dog off him and his stern commands of “Down!” and “Move” were greeted with a lick across his face. He raised an arm and snapped his fingers to get Ceph’s attention and pointed to the ground. That worked but not in the way Hannibal intended. The sun was at the perfect angle to have his arm cast a huge shadow on the wall and the motion caught Ceph’s eye. With a rumbling snarl that would make almost anyone wet themselves in fear, he dove off the chair, nails raking huge furrows in the leather. Barking like a veritable hound of Hell he ran at the wall where the strange thing was threatening his human. Hannibal put his arm down fast as he could but Ceph was going too fast and slammed headfirst into the wall, leaving a noticeable dent and a very confused dog.  He ran from one end of the wall to the other, sniffing and growling, trying to find what had been there.

 

“Ceph! Sit!”

 

Ceph ignored Hannibal and pawed at the dent, ripping a chunk out of the wall and forcing Hannibal to resort to drastic measures.

 

“Squirrel.”

 

Hannibal had expected Ceph to tear through the house again, which would not be so bad. He and Will had mapped the dog's usual paths and everything breakable had been moved, leaving only the door frames and occasional piece of furniture to suffer his attentions. What he had not expected was for Ceph to release a loud baying bark and run straight for the window. Hannibal was only glad he had left it open as Ceph jumped out, his back leg catching and sending him tumbling. Luckily it was only a few feet off the ground and Hannibal watched Ceph go tearing out to the trees. 

 

At times like this, Will’s words about intelligence and bologna sandwiches came back to haunt him. Hannibal was a stubborn man though. He had waited years for Will to come into his own and he would wait, years if needed, for Ceph to do the same. For now though, he sighed and went to get the wall patch kit, absently noting they needed to restock again. He had just finished patching the hole when he heard Will’s truck pull up and Ceph’s enthusiastic greeting, the result of which probably left another dent in the vehicle.

 

Truth be told, Hannibal had to restrain himself from greeting Will with just as much enthusiasm and resolved to wait till Will called him. His plans were curtailed as he heard  Will speak, unusually sharp to Ceph, ordering him down and away. He surmised it worked as well as it did for him when he heard Will say “Squirrel!”.  Laughter burbled up but he tamped it down and went to the kitchen, ready to greet Will calmly and not like he had worried and fretted half the day.

 

Any words quickly died on his lips as he smelled something absolutely vile. Rot, sickness, like something had died and then been dragged through a garbage can left in the sun for a week. Worried now, he stepped into the kitchen, about to ask Will what was wrong when he saw it.

 

“Will...what...is...that?”

 

“It’s probably a dog. Or a shaved possum. Can’t really tell till I bathe it.” Was Will’s insouciant reply as he shifted the bundle of dog, or possum, in his arms and headed for the bathroom. “Could you start some food? We’re both really hungry.”

 

The door closed and Hannibal was left standing, covered in dust and spackle and holding a paint scraper.  Being a reasonable man, Hannibal did the only thing he could; he obeyed Will like  good little house husband and started dinner.  He considered making fried bologna sandwiches but...he was really hungry and figured Will was as well. The...thing...Will brought home had to have some food too.  All too soon Hannibal lost himself in cooking, only peripherally aware  of  the sounds of the shower going, of Will laughing and talking soothingly to the animal followed by the sound of the blow dryer.

 

Just as the food was finished, Will came out, wearing a towel and carrying what was most definitely a puppy. Clean, the coat was mostly white, fluffy, very fluffy with random patches of black, silverish blue, and spotted fur. The right side of it’s face was half pale brown with a blue spotted ear and the other half was dark brown around the eye while the bottom part was the same brown as the other side. The nose was spotted but the actual muzzle white. It was tiny but Hannibal looked at the paws and internally sighed. They were comically huge. This was not going to be a small dog. 

 

“So it appears it was a dog.” He remarked dryly.

 

“Yup. I was kind of hoping for a possum though. She’ll be a fun playmate for Ceph regardless.”

 

“Hmm.” Was Hannibal’s noncommittal reply.

 

“Hey. Gaslight is a scruffy street mutt, scrappy and smart. Ceph an overbred but loveable dummy. Kinda reminds me of you and me.”

 

Hannibal was almost offended but the dog’s name caught him off guard. “What...is it’s name?”

 

“Gaslight. _Her_  name is Gaslight.”

 

“Really, Will?”

 

“I was thinking Ulcer, since you’ve given me so many, or PITA, since you are one but...in honor of your tradition of naming things after our past, I settled on Gaslight. Food ready? Smells good.”  

 

Will sautered over to the stove, leaving Hannibal to slow blink at his back. 

 

Hannibal watched Will dish up some food then lean against the counter to eat, grinning at the puppy who pawed playfully at Hannibal’s shoe. Hannibal looked down at her then shook his head as he served up two bowls of food, one for her and one for Ceph. He had just bent over to place them down when heard Will say, very softly, “Treat”.  He didn’t even have time to stand before Ceph, who had apparently been standing in the doorway, barreled in and Hannibal wound up flat on his back. Ceph started scarfing down his food, ignoring Hannibal, and the puppy who came over and started licking Hannibal’s face. 

 

Will came and stood over Hannibal’s prone form, smiling down at him and holding his bowl of food. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, then walked away, whistling the Oscar Mayer bologna theme song. 

**Author's Note:**

> The ending was not the original one I was going to do. It is still part of the fic and if you can figure out where I was originally going to end it, I'll write you a small Ceph and Gaslight drabble. ^^;; Just drop me a line at my tumblr.


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